#AND TH

[moltage]

''you, pretty boy!'' lives in my head rent free

[test-url-please-ignore]

Might make a Lovebug (and loveplague) design for Wesley if y’all would be interested in something like that

also sorry for the lack of art, but hey I have a break coming up soon so maybe I’ll have more time then!

[here-comes-the-bard]

the curse of having elaborate animatics in my head. grrrr. it's not even just that i don't have the drawing skill or energy, i don't even have the video editing skill LMAO. but they're fun to think about anyway

[beantothemax]

“Ochette, what are you doing?” 

Ochette flashed Castti a toothy grin, adjusting where she sat on the floor of Miss Clarissa’s home, braiding Elena’s hair. 

It had been a few months since Elena’s rescue, and she was recovering swiftly- no doubt aided by the constant presence of her real father, who was reading a story to her. 

If the story sounded awfully familiar to the group’s own, Ochette pretended not to notice. 

“Braiding Lena’s hair, Ma! Can I do yours next?” 

Castti reached a hand to the bun she always wore, face scrunched in the way Ochette had come to learn meant she was deep in thought. 

“Where did you learn to braid?” Thronè asked, coming out of the kitchen with a full pie tin. She had been learning from Miss Clarissa how to bake, and was steadily getting better as the attempts wore on. 

“I taught her,” Miss Clarissa said cheerfully as she too exited the kitchen. 

What a cheerful bunch they had all become, Ochette thought. Months ago, she never would have thought this sort of outcome possible. Pops had been bent on revenge, Ma had been stumbling along with only half her memories, and Nènè had been almost ready to give up her dream of ‘freedom’. 

Now here they were, practically living in Conning Creek. Osvald had his daughter back, Castti had saved an entire kingdom (she still woke up some nights screaming Trousseau’s name, tears in her eyes), and Thronè had gotten her freedom. 

Osvald had entire notebooks filled with their stories, and read the more lighthearted of them to Elena often. Castti, though she still dreamt of travelling the continent to continue extending a helping hand, had agreed to take up a temporary position with the Apothecary’s Guild stationed in Conning Creek. Thronè was learning to bake, learning to create rather than destroy. Ochette was learning how to braid hair. 

They had all changed, but something told Ochette it was for the better. 

Especially when she tied Elena’s braid off with a ribbon and Castti agreed to let her braid her hair and Thronè cut the pie with a dagger once used for cutting throats. 

Peach pie. Those always did grow well by the sea, Ochette remembers hearing someone say. She doesn’t remember where she heard it from. 

“Elena, would you be a dear and get me a slice of pie?” Castti asked, and Elena smiled and nodded, scampering to her feet and getting a slice of fresh warm pie from the tin. 

And so Castti ate pie that Thronè had made while Ochette braided her hair, and Osvald and Elena ate together while she asked him questions about his travels, and Miss Clarissa sat in her old armchair by the fireplace and read a book while sipping tea, seeming quite content to remain quiet in all the chatter that filled her home. 

It must have been very lonely for Miss Clarissa, spending so long alone. Now her home was filled with life and love once more, and the smile that always seemed to grace her face told everyone all they needed to know about how she felt about it. 

That night, as Thronè and Ochette made their way back to the inn, they talked and laughed and raced all the way to their room (which the innkeeper let them stay in for free, thanks to some strings pulled by Miss Clarissa). Ochette knew she would have to return to Toto’Haha soon, but she could allow herself to have a little bit of fun while she was away. 

As she curled up in her bed at the inn, she drifted into a warm dream of eating pie and playing games with her family. 

UUEUUEUEUUEEGHHGDGEHHEHEGEE!!,!!,!,!,!:!:!2?$,?:

MAVVIE THIS IS SO SWEET IM GOING TO FUCKING MELT

TH!!!!!!!!!!!!! THE FUCKIGN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!,!,!.!,!!?!!.!,!.!,! THEYM!!!!!!!!!!

[glsneeg-enthusiast]

post escape sneeg and charlie have both been smacked with the hallucination beam im afraid

[jessicas-pi]

Dear everyone who has ever thought "I wonder if jessica has stopped working on [project i mentioned in the past]," no. I haven't. It's just taking 70 times longer than expected, as per usual.

[benetnvsch]

Tumblr should invent a block filter that actually for once just completely excludes posts with things I blocked instead of just telling me ‘hey this contains a blocked thing hahah care to see?”

Cuz no I fucking don’t that’s why I have it blocked-

[huevobuevo]

finally… peace and love on planet earth (0 new notifications)

[hinamie]

matching eye horror for u and ur back-from-the-dead bestie <333

[luckyavntrne]

finally playing furina's story quest and I fully understand why people were upset with paimon and the traveler

[dirtflunk]

th unsettling knights r kissing in the dungeon, m'lord.

[beybuniki]

bodyguard x singer bkdk for a request ^_^

[metro-north-official]

Happy Pride everybody

[yumeyleo]

chapter 71....

[beantothemax]

“So... cold...” 

Trousseau’s voice sounded pained, efforted. He clutched at his bleeding side, head bowed. His white hair was stained crimson, his face splattered with poison and blood. 

“I’ve watched so many die... Time and time again...” 

He chuckled weakly, shoulders trembling. Castti could only stare, only watch in horror as the one she once called a friend died slowly before her eyes. 

“So this... is what death feels like... Of course. This is it... Salvation.” 

The look of relief on his face was underlined with pain, with something akin to sorrow. Somewhere deep down, Trousseau didn’t truly want to die. 

“Trousseau...” Castti began. But what would she say? That she was sorry? That she had well and truly hoped that they could be friends again? 

Trousseau only looked up at her, his eyes pale and far away. The blood on his cheek had started to dry, cracking and darkening against his pale skin. He had always looked sickly... 

“How’s it feel, Chief? To take a life?” He asked, and Castti felt sick. Her hands tingled and burned where Trousseau’s blood had spilt, her axe clattering to the ground from a slackened grip. 

No, she decided. She refused to allow this. Apothecaries were not meant to take lives. 

“I’m afraid I won’t know the answer to that,” she answered, sinking to her knees in front of him. She would have to act quickly if she wanted to keep the already-fading poison from infecting his wound. 

Trousseau fell silent as she started pulling at his robes, but complied nonetheless. Lifting his arms so she could peel off the outer layer, then dilligently keeping them raised so she could work without hinderance. 

“...Why are you doing this? Why won’t you let me die? I’m worthless anyway. I’ve killed so many, who’s to say I won’t kill you, too? I’ve already tried twice.” 

Castti looked up briefly from his wound, already dressed and halfway bandaged. She felt numbness starting to creep into her fingertips, the black swellling aching deep in her bones. 

“Because I will extend a helping hand to all in need.” 

Trousseau looked away, eyes shining. 

“...I know the cure to the poison,” he said, and Castti paused, the bandages wrapped tight around the wound. The fact that she caused it still made her feel ill, perhaps made worse by the poison in her system. 

“You... What?” 

“I know the cure, Chief. Please... Let me help you. Let me extend my hand one last time.” 

Castti nodded, and Trousseau shifted, one hand gripping his coat tightly. 

“Purebalm, scalebark leaf, skybalm, santanejo nlossom... And snowdrop petals. Those should create a cure for the poison. Please, Chief... Test it on me. I want to be the first to know if it works. I know it’s a selfish request, but please.” 

Selfish? No. Not selfish. Dangerous. Much too dangerous for someone in such a fragile state. 

Castti shook her head. “No. Not in your state, your condition. I’m testing it on myself.” 

“If it doesn’t work, kill me,” Trousseau responded, and Castti paused. She hated how he made her hesitate, how he stunned her constantly. She needed to act fast, and he was hindering her. 

“I won’t,” she said, and Trousseau leaned forward weakly to grab at her axe. 

“Then I’ll do it myself.” 

She kicked it out of his reach, frantically mixing the ingredients together. If this cure worked, she would owe Trousseau her life. If it didn’t... She would risk that life to find the true cure. 

“...Cheers,” she murmured to Trousseau, lifting the bottle of tincture in a morbid toast. Trousseau simply stared at her with blank eyes, watching. 

She took a hearty sip, and waited. Sure enough, she felt the antidote take place almost immediately. Her breathing and heart rate returned to normal, the black swellings disappeared, and the bleeding of said swellings vanished. 

“Trousseau, it worked! Your cure worked! Here, drink.” 

She handed the bottle to Trousseau, who stared at it blankly. 

“I don’t want to be saved. I don’t care about salvation anymore... It should be my punishment instead.” 

Castti took the bottle from his limp hands. 

“Trousseau... Just the very fact that you think you deserve to be punished for what you did proves that you are a better person than you give yourself credit for. You can still change. And if we hurry, there won’t be any casualties of today. Now drink, so we can save the rest of the townspeople.” 

She placed the bottle back in his hands, and after a moment he swigged it, taking a single gulp. 

Slowly, he rose to his feet, favouring the side without the injury. She did that, she hurt the one who looked up to her, she tried to cleave the most eager member of the group in half- 

“Come on, Chief. They’re waiting for Eir’s Apothecaries. Let’s not keep them waiting,” Trousssau murmured, and she took his hand, bottle in his other. She scooped up her axe, putting it back on her belt. She couldn’t ignore the way Trousseau seemed to flinch slightly when she picked it up. 

Just as they were about to rush down the stairs, Edmund came running up. 

“Bonemender, are you-” 

He paused, eyes trained on Trousseau. 

“...Isn’t this the guy who tried to mess everything up? Hell’s he doin’ alive?” He asked, and Trousssau gave a weak smile. 

“That’s what I would like to know as well. Unfortunately, Chief isn’t very good at reasons. Excellent at action, though. That’s why she’s on her way to cure everyone afflicted with poison.” 

“With the cure that Trousseau created,” Castti added, and Trousseau’s smile vanished. 

“Chief is the one who created it. I just told her ingredients that might work. In any case, we don’t have time to argue about the intricacies of my survival. At the moment, there are many in town who likely need a dosage of the cure. If you would be so kind as to let us through..?” 

Edmund stepped aside wordlessly, and Castti made her way cautiously down the stairs into the castle. At some point, Trousseau had ended up on Edmund’s back, being carried like a child through the twisting corridors. Not that he seemed to mind. In fact, Trousseau seemed quite content to be as limp as a sleeping young one and just as quiet. 

It was almost terrifying how silent he was, but Castti chose to ignore her anxiety for the time being. There were people who needed saving. 

It seemed like aeons before her and Trousseau were staggering into the tavern with a drained bottle of antidote. Everyone was safe, and Castti was so, so tired. 

“You can rest easy, Chief,” Trousseau’s soft voice assured her as her eyes fell shut. “Everyone is safe.” 

“Even you...?” She asked sleepily, and heard a breathy chuckle from above her head as it fell onto her arms. 

“After the effort you put in to keep me alive? I’m not going anywhere anytime soon, even if I wanted to. Don’t worry, Chief. I’ll be right here when you wake up. Go ahead and rest. You deserve it.” 

Trousseau was right. Castti did deserve to rest after what she’d gone through. 

Before she knew it, she was falling asleep, and dreaming of Eir’s Apothecaries, with Trousseau there merrily laughing with the others as though he’d never even heard of the black blood poison. 

In her sleep, she smiled, dreaming of bygone days that whispered in her mind like a pleasant memory. 

And when she woke up, Trousseau was still there, fast asleep on the table, looking more peaceful than he ever had before. 

“Sleep well, Trousseau.” 

[lemongogo]

dont forget what happened to icarus